Five years missing
by Angeleene
Summary: Set after Reichenbach. Sherlock's back and still the same. When someone from his past shows up at his door with a big mystery to solve, he will have to make a choice. Sherlock/John friendship and Sherlock/OC romance.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello everybody! This is my first Sherlock fanfic, I hope you'll like it. English is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistake you could find.

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock & co obviously don't belong to me, I just borrowed them for a little while, and for some characters which we don't really know anything about, I tried to make my imagination work.

* * *

He was not dead after all.

After all this mess Moriarty had created, Sherlock Holmes was not dead. And that infuriated John Watson to the highest possible level.

Oh, of course he was happy. His best friend was alive. He could understand why he had chosen to fake his suicide. Well, he could _almost_ understand. But the lie… Deep inside, he couldn't stand the lie. The hurt it had caused. Not only to him, but to all those people who cared about him: Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and even Mycroft. And to his mother.

He had never met Sherlock's mother before the funeral. It was even hard to believe that the great detective could have one. He never talked about her. And this day, John understood why.

Physically, she looked a lot like her son (or was it the contrary?), and yet they couldn't have been more different: certainly they had the same dark curled hair, the same features, cheekbones, and above all the same piercing blue eyes, but the emotion on Helen Holmes' face was something he never had seen on Sherlock's. She hadn't cried, she had been dignified, and he had realized that she was not only grieving for her son, but she was a broken woman. And suddenly she had approached him.

"_I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Holmes. Sherlock was like a brother to me and…" he had said, but couldn't finish._

"_Thank you Mr. Watson."_

"_Please, call me John."_

"_Well John, I heard a lot about you."_

"_Oh... Really?" he was genuinely surprised._

"_I'm sure you can't say the same." She stated like she was reading his mind. "Mycroft talked to me about what you did for Sherlock. I know my son was not really easy to live. He was not easy for anything. He was… Well, you know how he was." She sighed._

"_Mrs. Holmes, I hope you don't believe stories the newspapers are telling. Sherlock has never been a fake and a criminal! He would never have done such things." He wasn't sure who he wanted to convince._

"_Don't worry John. I know Sh… I mean I knew Sherlock and, no offense, even surely better than you did, and even though I didn't understand him most of times and wished somehow that he had been more emotional and a lot less like… himself, he was still my beloved son. Nobody will ever make me believe that he was something else than the great, annoying, egocentric and brilliant man that he truly was."_

That was how his first encounter with Helen Holmes took place.

And now Sherlock was back from the dead. Moriarty's men were all out of order, passed out or in prison, and everything was almost back to the normal. That's what infuriated John the most: his friend didn't seem to realize how much it had been hard for everybody to cope with his absence during all these months.

They needed a case, and they needed it now. John was on his nerves and Sherlock was unbearable. He was doing many weird experiences that the doctor didn't want to know exactly what it was about, but yet it was not enough for him.

"I'm bored!" Sherlock said for the twentieth time in fifteen minutes. It was 4 o'clock in the afternoon and he was still in his dressing gown.

"For God 'sake Sherlock! Won't you just shut the hell up?"

"But I am bored! My mind will die if I don't find something to solve." He shook his head with a desperate look on his face.

"Well then do look for it and stop talking."

"Aren't you bored too?"

John sighed, but didn't raise his eyes from his newspaper. "No, I'm not."

"Sometimes I'd like to be just like you. Ordinary people. You don't need to think."

This time he looked up. "Hey! I'm right here you know? I can hear you."

"Of course you can!" He got up and started to pace around the living-room. "Maybe I could call Lestrade. Someone has necessarily been murdered in this bloody city, and this idiot must need my help!"

There was suddenly a light voice behind them: "Would a disappearance be enough to begin with, Mr. Holmes?"

They both turned around to see a young woman, leaning against the doorframe. She was on her late twenties or early thirties, tall, with long brown hair and green eyes. She was wearing slim jeans, a white V-neck t-shirt, a fitted black jacket and high heels.

"Hello Sherlock." She said with a smile.

He stiffened and didn't answer. He didn't make a single move and just stared at her. She stared back at him. It lasted for a few seconds and then John, who was watching the scene, had a little cough. She then looked at him and he moved towards her to shake her hand.

"Hmm… I'm Doctor John Watson, nice to meet you."

But before she could reply, Sherlock opened his mouth and said very seriously: "Not interested. We're busy. Goodbye."

"What?" John almost choked. "You were complaining you were bored only two minutes ago!"

"Changed my mind." He said, not looking at him, but his eyes on the young woman. "You know the way out. Goodbye."

She was still smiling, and ignored him.

"It's my pleasure Dr. Watson." She told him as if she hadn't heard a word of Sherlock. "My name is Kate Reed."

"Oh come on! He doesn't care what your name is, because you're going away. I told you we're not interested." His tone was cold.

"Sherlock! What's going on with you?" John asked. He knew his friend didn't care about social rules, but that was beyond impoliteness. He was surprised though when he saw a sigh of relief on her face.

"That's okay, don't worry." Kate told John, and then she looked at Sherlock. "I can't say that I was expecting an emotional reunion, but you know I wouldn't be here if it wasn't really important Sherlock."

He didn't say anything. John was more and more puzzled. Those two obviously knew each other for a long time.

"Oh God you're so childish sometimes. Don't you think it's time to grow up?" she tried again, but she didn't get him to speak.

"Oh mostly don't feel you have to tell me what this is all about, do you?" John finally asked with a bit of feigned indifference.

"I'm sorry John. I can call you John, right?" she answered.

He nodded. "Sure, but…"

"But you don't have to call him at all, since you're leaving." Sherlock cut her off.

Once more, she chose to ignore him and continued as if nothing.

"As I said, I'm sorry. I think you guessed that the so-called genius but clever dick present here and I used to be… friends, in a way. But I've probably made a mistake. I should go. Thank you for your welcome, John. Goodbye."

She went towards the door but turned to look at Sherlock and added with something in her eyes that John couldn't identify: "Oh, and by the way Mr. Holmes… I'm happy you're not dead finally."

She was already going down the stairs when they heard her voice a last time. "Call me when you want a mystery!"

And then she was gone.

She was barely out of the room that Sherlock was pacing again.

"What's wrong with you Sherlock Holmes?" John growled. "You'd better have a good explanation: what was that?"

"Nothing." He shrugged.

"You think I'm going to take a 'nothing' as a sufficient explanation? Why did you refuse to listen to her? And how do you know her by the way?"

"Shut up, I have to think!"

His brain was racing. He put his fingers on his temples and finally took a decision. He couldn't stay like that. Not knowing, or his head would explode. He ran to the window and opened it, looking for her in the street. He caught sight of her on the sidewalk, she was hailing a cab.

"Who is it?" he yelled.

The brown-haired woman stopped her move and looked up.

"Whose disappearance is it about?" he yelled louder.

She closed the car's door and said something to the driver who left. She grinned before saying the only thing he was not expecting to hear.

"Mine."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"What do you mean by 'yours'?" John asked.

Kate Reed was back on the 221B Baker Street and was now sitting on an armchair in front of the fireplace, with a cup of tea in her hands. She watched Sherlock who was pacing on the room without a look at her. He had left his dressing gown and put on some clothes.

"I mean that the last thing I remember about my life was five years ago. I don't know anything about what happened to me since 2007. I know it might be a little confusing, and to say the truth it is for me too."

"It's not disappearance, it's just amnesia. I can't do anything about that, it's ridiculous!" Sherlock said, still walking.

Her smile was long-gone, replaced by a serious look on her beautiful face. She was a really attractive woman. Not the fashion magazine type, but she definitely had this thing that probably got her noticed by lots of men when she was walking down the streets or any other place.

"And when did you realize that you have… forgotten your life? If we can say it like that…" John said.

It was weird in his mouth. He was a doctor and he had seen some cases of amnesia during the war, but he didn't know what to think yet.

"Two weeks ago, I woke up in a bedroom, in a house I didn't recognize. There was a man claiming he was my fiancé, but I had never seen him before. And he said that my name was Claire Reynolds, not Kate. He told me I had a car accident and suffered from a concussion, and because of that I was just confused. But I'm not hurt. I mean I didn't even have a single bruise! How could it be possible?"

John had never heard a so cock-and-bull story in his whole life.

"My parents are dead and I couldn't find anybody else to say who I really am. I even Googled my name, but it's like I've never existed! The people I knew, the life I've lived, everything vanished without trace. I nearly went to the police but… Well never mind. Nobody wanted to believe me. I'm not insane, I don't know who this Claire Reynolds is, but it's not me." She went on quietly.

So quietly that it felt she was talking about someone else and not about herself.

Sherlock seemed to be lost in thoughts. John wondered if he had listened any of what she had told.

"So, you came here because…?" he didn't dare to say more. The truth was that he didn't know how to express what he exactly wanted to.

"Because you're my last hope to prove who I am and find what happened to me." She stood up. "It's not amnesia. Look at me Sherlock, and tell me if I look like someone who had a car crash or something like that? You can always say everything about everybody with just a look upon them, so do it! Look at me and tell me what you see!"

She was in front of him, blocking his way. But he didn't speak.

"I just want my life back. Don't make me beg you." She whispered and touched his hand, but he went away from her as if he had been burned.

"Stop stop stop! I can't think, you talk too much!" Sherlock finally said with a harsh tone, and suddenly went to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Kate let out a deep sigh and shook her head. "Still the same…"

"Yeah…" John agreed. He was curious to know more. "For how long have you two known each other?"

"Since secondary school. It was a long time ago…"

"Secondary school? But I thought Sherlock had been to Eton?"

"Oh he did, but he got fired." She smiled and went back to her sit. "His father was so angry at him: he had had to pay for more than 25000£ a year and Sherlock has been dismissed only six months after his arrival. So he decided to send him in a public school. He said he didn't want to pay a single more penny for an ungrateful son like his…"

"Why am I not surprised?" John chuckled and sat down in front of her. "You were in the same class?"

"No, he's two years older, he was in final year. But everybody knew him, and as you can imagine, he was not really popular. He was getting on each one's nerves."

"But you were friends nevertheless?"

"Well at first… I wouldn't say it like that."

"So what happened?" he asked.

"I punched him in the face and then I hit him with my dad's car."

John's mouth fell open. "You… what?"

Kate's face lit up with a mischievous grin.

"Don't worry it was an accident. I mean I punched him on purpose, it's true. He had been such an ass, he had humiliated one of my friends in front of everybody and I just… I couldn't stand it. She was a good girl but she had not what was needed to shut him up. I didn't think and did it. I confess that maybe it was not a good idea, not really clever, but it had felt right at the moment…"

"And the part when you hit him with your car?"

"Oh _that_ really was an accident! I was only sixteen, but my father used to let me drive the car just to park it on our garage. Except that one day I mistook the first gear for the reverse, and Sherlock was walking past our house at this very moment. I thought I had killed him, but in the end he just had a broken-leg. It was only two days after I punched him at school. And after that…"

She sighed again and fell silent. John, from his part, was quite falling from a height. He thought he knew everything about his friend's past life, but obviously he was wrong.

"After that…?" he couldn't help but ask.

"He charged me with that for a long time! He made my life a bloody hell, or at least he tried. I still don't know exactly when we finally became friends. He was Mr. Know-it-all, arrogant, selfish… He didn't care about people's feelings. And people were only seeing this side of him."

"But you didn't…"

"No, I didn't. I saw him behind the mask. I found out what he didn't want me to: emotions. Probably just like you did, am I right John?"

"As annoying and smart-ass as he is, yeah I guess so… But there is more, isn't it?"

"This is very much enough John."

Sherlock's voice came from behind them. John froze and cleared his throat. Maybe he had gone too far with his questions.

Sherlock left out the living-room and abruptly closed his door. He was upset. And he was not used to be. Was she really here? Was it really Kathleen Reed, sat in the next room, only a few feet away from him?

Of course it was her. After fourteen years, there she was: a ghost from his past. An absolutely stunning ghost, and with an extraordinary mystery to solve! Wait… Did he just think that _she_ was stunning? Or was he thinking of her story? Yes it _must_ have necessarily been that…

It was the same again. It shouldn't be after all this time, but she was not here for more than half an hour and yet he couldn't think straight. He had always been able to compartmentalize everything, except with her.

When he had first met Kate, and by this he meant the first time she had talked to him (he hadn't had the time to say a word though), calling him "Mr. Clever Not Better", he already knew everything about her. Because she was not like his other schoolmates. She was… interesting. And nevertheless he could have never predicted she'd do what she actually did. Many times later she had tried to make him understand why she had punched him, but he never did. All he had done was telling a very simple truth to a very stupid girl. Really, he didn't see what the problem was.

On the other hand, he then had a much bigger problem to solve from that day. _She_ was his problem. She was more than interesting; she was amazing. Beautiful (and _objectively_ she really was), confusing and illogical. He hated being confused and lived only for logic. She was everything he wasn't: emotional and heart on her sleeve. And for Sherlock, hearts were a science apart.

"_Sherlock, are you never tired to be always so down-to-earth?" she asked him once._

"_How would you like me to be?"_

"_Why do you answer a question by another, again?"_

_He raised an eyebrow and put the look on his face that meant "We both know why", that exasperated her so much._

"_Okay, so you never, ever wished to be less…" she was trying to find the right word._

"_Myself?"_

"_Yeah, sort of… I mean you wouldn't like to let go sometimes?"_

"_Let go what?"_

"_Show what you feel inside. Speak with your heart."_

"_Don't be stupid, nobody can't speak with its heart, it's just a simple muscle that makes the blood running in our veins."_

"_Don't play clever with me Sherlock, you know what I mean."_

"_No I don't and I'm not playing clever."_

_She sighed. "So, that's as simple as that? No emotions at all? Your mind, your intelligence, this is enough for you?"_

"_Of course. You can only think with your brain, I don't see the point."_

"_The point is that one day I'll make you admit that your heart is much more than this muscle making blood running in your veins…"_

They were used to have this kind of conversation very often. She was stubborn as a mule and refused to give up.

Until one morning he had woken up, and put on his face the one that was supposed to get him through another day, like any other. Not that he did matter what people thought about him. But then Kate had come around him smiling and laughing, and the walls had just disappeared. For the first time in his life he had felt unprotected.

Against all odds, the great Sherlock Holmes had felt _something_ for somebody else.

He had tried to rationalize: this _something_ was just a chemical reaction after all. Endorphins, adrenaline rushes. He could handle that. But _anything_ was not that easy, and he wouldn't have guessed it would be this hard. Kate was his complete opposite, and yet they couldn't do without each other. He was unlivable and she was sweet. She was teasing and he was serious. He examined every detail closely and she took on everything without thinking twice. She was the fire burning his ice.

Not able to think clearly anymore for weeks, he had been the one who finally kissed her first. It had been the one and only once he had seen her with this extraordinary smile, but it hadn't lasted.

"_Well Mr. Holmes, what was that for?" she asked._

"_I just had to try something and now that I've checked every possibility, I'm not really sure what to conclude though."_

_Her grin faded away. "You HAD to try? This is one of your fucking experiments?"_

"_This is something I'd never done, so yes, we can consider it's an experiment." He shrugged._

"_Please tell me you're joking Sherlock, right?"_

"_But that's just a simple fact. Why does it bother you?"_

"_You're seriously asking me?... I can't believe this! Why does it bother me? Unlike you, I am NOT a fucking machine who needs to know everything better that everybody, just because everything has to have a logical reason to be! Oh I'm sorry, you don't need to know, you just need to prove to the common run of people who is so stupid, that you are never wrong! So let me tell you something Mr. Icy-know-it-all: the common run of people prefers being blind to your truths than living in this sad and depressing world of yours, where there is no place for imagination."_

This had been the first of their many arguments as... How could he name their strange relationship that had started from this moment? He had always refused to give it a call.

And then he left London to go to college, as she was still in high school. There were more fights and less reconciliation. Until one day she was gone forever.

It ended up proving only what he already knew before: sentiments were a weakness.

But now she was here and she was asking for his help. The mystery was too attractive: five years of her life missing, switched identity. Definitely tempting.

He got out of his bedroom just to hear: "… He was Mr. Know-it-all, arrogant, selfish… He didn't care about people's feelings. And people were only seeing this side of him."

"But you didn't…" His friend's voice replied.

"No, I didn't. I saw him behind the mask. I found out what he didn't want me to: emotions. Probably just like you did, am I right John?"

He didn't miss the hint of melancholia in her voice.

"As annoying and smart-ass as he is, yeah I guess so… But there is more, isn't it?"

They don't have the time for that.

"This is very much enough John." He interrupted.


End file.
